Tales of the Armestris Military
by RealmofRejectedMindsStudios
Summary: In the spirit of Episode 37 of the series, this collection of short stories will take you into the harsh, unrelenting world of the Amestris military, following Colonel Mustang's crew on solo adventures during the years following Ed and Al's enlistment.


Shades of Grey: 

A Warrant Officer's Tale

Chapter 1

_'Yes, by joining the Amestris Armed Forces, you too can: visit exotic locations; get the firm, muscular body you've always dreamed of having; make new friends from all corners of our mighty nation; and, most importantly, make a profitable and noble career out of serving your country, fighting injustice to protect everything we as free citizens hold dear! Sign up now at your local recruitment office. For more information, call-'_

_"Aw, turn that off, Larry…you know it's a load of shit," a young man spat, snapping open a can of cheap beer._

_"Man, there's never anything good on after midnight…" Larry, a local university student nearing the end of his second year, shook his head disappointedly, "Toss me another BilligKolben, would you, Falman?"_

_Vato Falman, a junior at age 20 and still undecided as to his major, dug into the cooler at his side, pulled out a can of their poor quality, dirt cheap alcoholic beverage of choice for the night and heaved it lightly in the direction of his fraternity buddy._

_"Yeah, you'd have to have a goddamn death wish to join the military, especially now that peace talks with Aerugo have broken off again," another young adult added from his position slumped against the back of the ratty, brown couch in the corner of the room, "That's why they keep running those stupid ads…"_

_"If the courts weren't dragging their feet, you can bet Bradley would've initiated a draft by now," the first boy, Jurg, said, "We'd probably __**all**__ be dead."_

_"All I know is that Silke would kill me long before any Aerugian bullet could," Larry chuckled, shaking his head._

_"Well no worries," the one on the couch said with a grin, "They'll never catch any of us in them damned uniforms, right boys?"_

_"Heh, I'll drink to that," Falman smiled, raising his can in toast towards the others._

_Bahrnt! Bahrnt! Bahrnt! Bahrnt!_

_'It can't possibly be 4:30 already…'_ Falman moaned inwardly, groping around in the dark to find the alarm clock. He shut it off and then pushed himself up off the mattress (thin and worn as it was, it was preferable to the state of consciousness he was forced to enter at such an ungodly hour).

Why the hell did Roy want him at Eastern Headquarters by 5:30 anyway? Usually they weren't expected to report for duty until 7 or so. Vato yawned tiredly, covering his mouth with one hand as the other fumbled about clumsily at his feet for a T-shirt to wear when he left his dorm to go to the showers (someday he'd move out of military-allotted housing, someday…).

In the hall (badly lit by the flickering ceiling lights) he passed a familiar figure. Kane Füry, having not been summoned early like his comrade, was merely trudging his way back from the bathroom, his normally wide child-like eyes barely open as he attempted to make his way without the aid of his glasses.

"Morning," Falman muttered half-heartedly, his toothbrush and toothpaste both clutched in one hand.

"Wha…? Is it really?" Füry asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand.

"'Fraid so," the older man nodded, "You look tired; late night?"

"I wish," the younger soldier sighed, "I just haven't been sleeping all that well lately."

_'The only excuse for not sleeping well should be a healthy night life…'_ Falman thought dejectedly, falsely nodding in understanding. This kid was in his early twenties, in decent shape physically, not a grey hair in sight, _'Youth really _is_ wasted on the young,'_ "Thought about seeing the medic?"

"If I could ever think of it other than the middle of the night," he replied with a half-hearted laugh, "How 'bout you? What're you doing up so early?"

"I've got an early meeting with the Colonel," Vato responded, "Gotta go get ready," he continued jokingly, hefting the personal hygiene items in his hand up slightly as proof.

"Sounds exciting," Füry forced a smile.

"For 5:30 in the morning, it better be," Falman grunted grumpily, "Get some rest, kid," he instructed, patting the younger man on the shoulder kindly with his free hand, "I'm sure I'll see you once the sun's actually up."

"Yep," he nodded, "Night Falman."

The Warrant Officer smiled slightly, "Sure, Füry…"

"Punctual as always, Falman," Lieutenant Hawkeye said curtly as he rapped his knuckles lightly on the doorframe to their office.

"Come in," Roy gestured impatiently, looking up from the paper work he had been reading through (dreadfully dull, to say the least), "And shut the door behind you."

"Yes sir," Vato nodded, doing as he was ordered. There was no need to ask why he had been summoned- he would be told momentarily.

"We don't have much time, so I'll make this brief," Mustang began quickly, pausing only a beat to take a quick sip of his coffee, "Intelligence has finally gotten confirmation as to the headquarters of the Red Hand terrorist group- they're the ones that assassinated half the Führer's personal guard when he was on parade in Central two months ago."

"Really??" Falman asked, "That's excellent news, Colonel."

"Not quite," the Flame Alchemist continued, his eyes scanning his desk quickly, "Lieutenant Hawkeye, where'd I put that briefing file?"

She reached over his shoulder and lifted up his coffee cup, "Right there, sir."

Roy's ears tinged a tad pink as he mumbled a quick "thank you." He coughed into his gloved hand once, then resumed his speech, "They're located in Balukei, it's about an hour from here by train. Good choice too, seeing as the town has nil in terms of military presence."

"Makes sense," he nodded, "Are you organizing a detachment? Or are investigations still going on?"

Mustang sighed, folding his hands anxiously on his desk, "Investigations have concluded and the findings are pretty grim: they've had adequate time to set up defenses and we'd have to worry about civilian casualties. Anything short of sending in a force half the size of what we were part of in Ishbal would expect at least 75 losses…"

"My God…" Falman locked his knees to keep them from weakening, "What other option do we have?"

"Intelligence has been working that out for the past few days," the Colonel said, his dark brown eyes focused intently on Falman's, "Red Hand lost a significant portion of their group in the attempt on the Führer's life, so they've quietly been recruiting new members," he sighed, running a hand through his short black hair (which was still damp from the shower he'd taken before he came to the office), "That's where you come in…"

Vato swallowed thickly. "A-are you sure I'm the right man for this operation, sir? Surely one of the younger men…"

"No, apparently they're pretty convinced you're the best- and nearest- candidate for the situation," Mustang replied, pushing the manila folder towards the older man, "Your cover story and train ticket are in here. Portions of your military service have been left intact, to prove your loyalty and pride in being an Amestris citizen; the Ishbalan campaign, to show you've been exposed to the darker side of governmental service- anyway, it's all in there. Your train leaves the station at 7:15…"

"I…I…yes sir," he nodded, taking the folder, "How shall I report back on my progress?"

"Intelligence has made arrangements for you," Roy assured him, standing up from his chair, "Good luck, Falman."

"Thank you, Colonel." The Warrant Officer saluted, then turned on his heel and exited the room.

"That went…well…" Hawkeye mumbled after the door had shut behind him.

"Hardly," Roy shrugged, retaking his seat, "Explain to the others (when they come in) that Falman'll be away for a few days and they'd do well not to ask too many questions about it."

"Of course sir."

"Ticket please, sir,"

_'Those boys over at Intelligence certainly were thorough, I'll give them that,'_ Falman thought to himself as he handed his train ticket to the bored-looking young conductor, trying to ignore the sinking suspicion that people were staring at him (it often happened when he wore his uniform).

"Geez, ya can't go anywhere without Bradley's mutts nosing around…"

"God, don't they have anything better to do than babysit train rides?"

Vato sighed, shaking his head as he received the stub of his ticket back. He'd have to change into casual clothes sooner than he'd anticipated- drawing unnecessary attention to himself was quite the opposite of what he wanted on this assignment. Maybe once he was changed he'd actually get a chance to open up and review the contents of the F.Y.E.O. folder Colonel Mustang had given him. Adjusting the collar of his uniform slightly (and trying to ignore the fact that several other boarding passengers seemed quite keen on purposely elbowing him as they walked past), Falman climbed the short flight of stairs up onto the locomotive.

Changing didn't take much time at all, though getting through the thick packet of papers certainly did. Red Hand, according to the report Intelligence had prepared for him, was an upstart political extremist group that had turned to terrorist methods in order to achieve their goal, which was radical governmental reform (seemed to be a common theme these days). Their attempt on Führer Bradley's life was their boldest move, but also their most costly in terms of both resources and manpower: having lost a number of their best operatives, Central Command decided that it would be an excellent time to eliminate the remainder of the group before they could get back on their feet.

For violent extremists, their choice of headquarters certainly was peaceful. Balukei was about as quiet as a town could get. He could see all the way down Main Street, where cars were scarce and children seemed to roam free. _'Hard to believe this place is only an hour away from East City,'_ Falman thought as a pair of boys ran past him wielding wooden swords as he descended the steps from the platform.

It was hard to believe there was anywhere in a place this oddly sleepy settlement that could be used as an Intelligence check-in point, much less somewhere for terrorists to recruit new members to their cause, _'Let's see…'_ Falman pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of his windbreaker and began rereading the directions to the safe house, which was located on the outskirts of town. Thankfully, Beluki being what it was, this meant it was only a twenty minute walk from the train station. Approaching the dingy, apparently long-abandoned house (Intel certainly did a nice job creating a fairly inconspicuous headquarters), Falman stuffed the bit of paper back into his jacket and rapped smartly on the door three times.

A tiny window near the top of the door slid open and a pair of eyes asked, "Password?"

Feeling rather silly (this whole thing seemed like something out of one of those damn super-spy broadcasts they were always playing on the radio), he answered, "The Flame sent me."

The door slid open instantly, its guard offering Falman a quick salute, "Commander Thanas has been expecting you, sir."

"Thank you. Could you point me in his direction?"

"He's in the Control Room, just down the stairs, sir," the private answered, closing the door again behind the Warrant Officer.

Falman blinked his squinted eyes once, trying to adjust them to the sudden darkness. He saluted the younger man (was there no one his age in the military anymore?), then descended the stairs in the direction indicated.

"Officer Falman, glad you could make it."

Finally, a fellow soldier who had seen at least as many years as he had. Falman extended his hand to grasp Thanas' firmly. "Nice to see such a set up awaiting me – this is rather impressive." He gestured around the room.

"High Command tends to take assassination attempts against the Führer's life rather seriously," Thanas responded swiftly, dropping his hands down to his sides, "We may not have many men for this operation but our equipment is top of the line." He sat down behind the small desk in the center of the room and motioned casually with one hand for Falman to take the chair opposite him.

"What's the total personnel assigned?" Vato inquired, leaning forward in his seat slightly, his hands folded together.

"Including us? Eight."

Falman straightened up in surprise, "…Eight?"

"Intelligence wants us to keep a low profile because of the size of the town," the Commander explained, "We'll be fine- most of the mission falls to you, I'm afraid. We're just here to keep an eye on your progress."

"Of course," he nodded, "Let's hope my acting skills haven't diminished since high school," he added with a weak laugh.

Thanas smirked at this, but only just, "For your sake, let's hope so. There's a small room in the back for you to deposit any personal belongings that might give away your real identity," he continued, pointing towards the wooden door on the left wall of the control room.

"Thank you, Commander," he said, rising from his seat, "After that, are we officially started?"  
"Affirmative soldier," Thanas nodded, "Report back to me as soon as you're settled in so I can give you a list of Red Hand's typical recruiting areas."

"Of course." Falman nodded, picking up his suitcase, "I'll be back in a few moments."

_"Mutter? Dad? Anyone home?"_

_"That you, boy?" came a booming voice from the top of the stairs as Thaddeus Falman appeared, beer bottle in one hand._

'Well, I guess it _is_ past noon…' _"Hey Dad," Vato smiled thinly, setting down the single duffel bag he had brought home with him on the floor by his feet._

_"Good ta see ya, boy!" Thaddeus bellowed as he thundered down the stairs, sweeping his son up in a tight, one-armed hug, "University life not makin' ya soft I hope?"_

_"Not any more than usual," the younger man shrugged, wincing slightly from his parent's powerful embrace, "How's business?"_

_"Dull as death," the older man replied, taking a swig of his ale, "But damn profitable!"_

_Being a maker of a variety of alcoholic beverages (most legal, some not so much) in a town with a high population, a university, and the constant fear of a military draft _would_ be a highly lucrative business, "Good to hear. Where's Mom?"_

_"Gallivantin' somewhere around this place…EVA!! The boy's back!" he called up the stairs._

_"Honestly Tad, there's no need to shout." A petite woman with graying blonde hair had come up behind them, wiping flour from her hands on an apron._

_"Long time no see, Mom," Vato greeted her happily, slipping out from beneath his father's burly arm in order to give his mother a light hug._

_As she returned the embrace, she glanced up at him. "Have you lost weight? Aren't they feeding you at that blasted place?"_

_Vato rolled his eyes in exasperation, "Yes, Mutti…"_

_"What brings ya home this time son?" his father inquired jovially, "Not outta money again, are ya?"_

'I guess it'd be a bad time to bring that up then…'_ "Actually, I've got some important news…"_

_'I can't believe they even _have_ a tavern in this town…'_ Falman thought in disbelief as he entered Beluki's solitary pub, the third and final entry on his list of possible locations for Red Hand activity. His feet were tired and sore, mainly due to the amount of walking he'd had to do (although it could be because his Intel-provided "civilian boots" weren't properly broken in yet). If nothing else, at least this stop would allow him to test his father's theory that alcohol could solve any physical ailment short of decapitation.

"What'll it be, stranger?" the woman behind the counter asked as he sidled up to it.

_'Might as well put on the act just in case…'_ "Just a beer, please; with what Bradley charges us in taxes these days to fuel his damn wars, it's gettin' hard to afford much else."

"I hear that," she said with a wry smile, reaching under the counter and pulling a bottle out.

He accepted the drink gratefully, glancing over his shoulder at the nearly empty bar, "Slow day?"

She followed his gaze around the room and then shrugged. "Not particularly."

_'That figures…'_ Falman sighed inaudibly, "Must get pretty boring if this is your average patronage…"

"Well, my regulars keep me company mostly," she told him, wiping down the counter absently, "But they haven't gotten off work yet."

Vato smiled slightly as he took a sip of his drink, "Gotta work long hours at any job just to feed yourself (not to mention a family) these days…"

"You're preaching to the choir," she said, returning his small smile, "It's a wonder I ever see my girls with how much time I spend here."

"Girls, eh? Well, at least they'll never have to worry about a draft…"

At that, she laughed. "I never thought of it that way, but that's a good point. Though I'm sure Bradley will find away to overrule that sooner or later."

"I'm sure all it'll take is another Ishbal…" Falman replied solemnly.

"And that's _just _what we need," she agreed, "Bradley's wars have already taken my husband, so why not my children too?"

"Your husband was in the military? Which war?"

"Ishbal," she replied matter-of-factly, "I was pregnant with our youngest when he left."

The Warrant Officer paused, taking another sip of his drink, his mood considerably more somber due to the direction of this conversation, "Vato Falman," he said, offering her his free hand, "I served in the 43rd infantry division during the Ishbal Campaign, maybe I knew your husband…"

"Liza Kendall," she said, taking his hand firmly and then reaching around behind the counter to pull an old picture frame forward, "That's my husband, Grant, the day before he left. Look familiar?"

Falman frowned, shaking his head, "Sorry, no, but it was a big operation- and my last, thankfully."

"I didn't think the army took kindly to early retirement…" she said, cocking an eyebrow.

"They don't, but it wasn't a problem- I got dishonorably discharged for using my commanding officer as a human shield to defend a buncha Ishbalan kids from the machine gun barrage he ordered."

"My God…" she shook her head, "Grant would've liked you. His letters home were never very…enthusiastic."

"The only enthusiastic ones there were those who joined the military just for the pleasure of killing…"

"God knows there were too many of them," she sighed.

She was sympathetic to his story, agreed with most of his points about the government and its armed forces, and as bartender she would have to frequent this bar often. Intel really hit the mark on this one: she had to be the contact he was looking for, his means to enter Red Hand. Surprising to think that this young woman could belong to an organization that had attempted to murder the leader of Amestris… "Still are, only now they've been promoted, I suppose…"

"Damn dogs, all of them," she spat, preoccupying herself with cleaning tumblers, "They'll be the death of us all."

"One way or another, yeah…"

"So what've you been doing since your discharge?" she asked, "Ishbal was quite a few years ago."

"Not much a discharged soldier can do, really. Blacklisted, you know?" Falman replied glumly, polishing off the remains of his drink, "Picking up odd jobs here and there, wishing I could do something more to hurt Bradley than evade his taxes. Those kids I tried to save deserved better from their country, as do the future generations, like your girls…"

There was a slight breeze as the front doors opened again and Liza looked up, smiling. "Speaking of which…" Two young girls came bounding into the room, a brunette (like her mother) pulling a blonde (younger than her by a few years) along by the hand. "Have a good day at school?"

"Boring, as always," the younger one said in the apathetic-yet-whiney tone that only small children can manage to pull off, "How's yer work goin'?"

"Got an early customer," she said proudly, "Girls, say hello to Mr. Falman."

"Hi," the blonde spoke up shyly, sitting down on the stool directly across from her mother.

"Are you new in town, mister?" the elder inquired, skipping her mother's directive to exchange the typical greeting formality with this stranger, "Most grown-ups 'round here have jobs that last past 3…"

"Lucy, that's not polite," Liza scolded half-heartedly.

"Just got in this morning actually," Vato answered, "Haven't had time to look for a job yet."

"Momma knows lotsa people in town," the littler girl informed him earnestly, "Maybe she can help you find a job!"

"Well that's very kind, but I wouldn't want to impose," he said, a bit bashfully.

"Actually," Liza said, looking thoughtfully, "I think I might know a place where you'd fit in nicely. When my regulars show up, there's a few I could introduce you to."

"Really?" he inquired, attempting to sound both surprised and reservedly pleased at the same time, "That'd be just great, thanks so much."

"Don't mention it," she smiled.

"I tell ya boys, it's days like these that make me want to scrap my whole damn trucking business and spend all my time at the club," Rickon Kendall barked to the group of a dozen or so men and women who were following him as he pushed the door to his sister's bar open, "First the train from Central gets delayed two hours due to God-only-knows-what, then-"

"Uncle Rick!" Lucy called out and her little sister (Lily, Falman had learned) hopped down from her bar stool in order to greet him more enthusiastically, running towards his now-open arms.

"C'mere ya little rascals!" he said warmly, his broad smile revealing a mouth full of off-white teeth, the regular pattern of which was disturbed by the fact that he was missing one from his upper left jaw (one too many bar fights in his younger days), "How're my three favorite girls today?" he inquired as he scooped up the young females into his arms, glancing over at his sister.

"Fine, as usual," Liza answered, "I was wondering what had kept you – the train was delayed?"

"Don't get me started on today's fresh load'a bullsh-"

"Stuff," the shorter, lean young man to Rickon's left cut in quickly, eyeing the girls, "Bad _stuff_, right?"

"Er-right," Rickon nodded, grinning at his sister sheepishly, "Thanks Jim…_stuff_…"

"You were gonna say 'bullshit', right?" the elder of the girls asked.

"Lucy!" Liza cried, dismayed.

"What?" the child asked, bewildered.

Falman nearly snorted into his drink at this, attempting (with great difficulty) to suppress the laughter he felt bubbling up within him.

"H-Hey now, sis," Rickon spoke up defensively, "I didn't teach 'er that."

"That's not a nice word, Lucy," Liza said calmly, "Where did you here it?"

"At school," she answered.

"It was probably my boy," a burly, dark haired man spoke up apologetically, "Got the mouth of a sailor, that one…"

"What'd you expect?" Rickon laughed, "The kid spends half his time down at the docks with ya!"

At this, the group had a hearty laugh as they settled into their seats along the bar, Lily remaining in her uncle's lap, while Liza pulled more beer bottles from under the counter.

It took Rickon a moment (and his first beer) to notice the grey-haired man sitting on the stool next to him, "So who the hell are you?"

"Oh, er –" Falman stammered.

"He's new in town, Rick," Liza answered, "And looking for work, if I remember right."

"Yeah?" the muscular man inquired, raising an eyebrow curiously, "Well, I can always use extra hands," he grinned, offering Falman a hand, "Rickon Kendall."

"Vato Falman," the undercover officer replied, submitting himself to the man's bone-crunching handshake with nary a wince, "Nice to meet you."

"Good to meet you too," the other responded, finally releasing Falman's gloved hand, "Stop by my office tomorrow, I'll see about hookin' ya up. Liza has my address."

"Sure thing," Vato nodded, "And thanks. I really appreciate this."

"Not a problem at all. Liza, another round for my friend here!" Rickon called to his sister, who was already busy filling glasses for the others who had followed him in.

"On your never-ending tab, I assume?" she asked, ducking down into the cooler again.

"Oh c'mon, sis, you know I'm good for it. Besides, I bring in half yer business," he chuckled, "It's not like you don't know where I live…"

"Can I have some, Momma?" Lucy asked, eager to be more like the grown-ups.

"How 'bout some milk, sweetheart," Liza offered, pulling a carton and two glasses up onto the counter.

"Fine…" she sighed.

"You know it'll help ya grow _big_ and strong, don'cha?" the burly sailor (with the smart-mouthed son) told her.

_'Guess someone forgot to tell that to FullMetal…'_ Falman thought to himself, now nursing his second drink quietly.

"So where 'bouts ya staying?" the sailor asked.

"I've got a room in one of- well, I guess it would be _the_ motel," _'Thanks to Intelligence, anyway,' _"They seemed rather eager to have a customer, actually…"

"That's not surprising," Jim nodded, "We don't get many tourists around these parts."

"Really? I couldn't tell…" Vato answered, trying to keep his voice even (as opposed to letting the sarcasm of his statement take over completely).

"Wasn't always that way, but it's not so bad – you get used to a quiet town in a short amount of time," he added.

Vato nodded, setting down the second bottle beside its twin, "It has its advantages, I suppose."

"More than you know," Rickon murmured.

"They're just giving themselves time to do a background check on you," Thanas assured Falman over the telephone later that night, "By tomorrow your contact will have convinced their leader (whom we believe, according to prior descriptions and the man you detailed for us from the bar tonight, is in fact Mr. Kendall) that you're a worthy candidate for Red Hand."

"And what'll they find?" Vato asked anxiously.

"Exactly what we want them to find: the false information we've installed on your government records and nothing that would jeopardize our mission."

"Good to know."

"Hopefully within a few days this will all be over and we can get out of this no horse rat-hole…"

"…Yeah…"

Falman, dressed up a bit more smartly than the day before (he was supposed to think he was going for a job interview, after all) in a dull, grey suit that was just slightly darker than his iron colored hair, rapped sharply on the door to Rickon Kendall's office, "Mr. Kendall?"

"Eh? Oh Falman! C'mon in," Kendall called, appearing to be straightening up the paperwork on his desk, "Sorry about the mess – I can never seem to keep up with it all."

"That's quite alright," Falman smiled, sticking his hands in the pockets of his trousers, "The burden of running a business must be a lot for any one man to handle."

"And most of it's so goddamn dull," Kendall said with a laugh, "Have a seat. Thanks for coming by. Guess the old military punctuality never dies, eh?"

"It's a hard habit to kick," Falman admitted with a sigh, sitting down in the hard-backed wooden chair across from Kendall's desk.

"Nothing wrong with that – as long as it's the only military habit you hung on to."

Vato raised an eyebrow in feigned confusion, "Not a big fan of our armed services either, I gather?"

"You won't find much support this far from the cities," he said easily, "Not when their only influence is the continually increasing taxes and decreasing subsidies."

"Guess I'll fit right in then," Falman responded, assuming a more casual posture to match the informal tone of the conversation, "I've got no love for der Führer and his band of thugs…"

"Glad to hear it," Rickon said with a smile, "And I'd be happy to have you aboard. Feel like filling out some paperwork for me?"

"Certainly; thank you, sir."

"What do you think of him?" Liza asked, coming into her brother's office as he watched Falman head out of the building.

"Well, the background story he offered checks out," Rickon answered quickly, his eyes scanning the information sheets that Falman had just finished filling out, "The government's records on him are pretty scathing, to say the least. And he seems like a decent guy- probably more so, before his time in the military. Now he's just another purposeless, faceless man with a grudge…"

"I like him," she said, watching the gray-haired man from the window, "So do the girls – Lily asked me to offer him the apartment above the bar."

The burly man grinned, leaning back in his chair, "Well, those girls of yers usually have pretty good noses for this sorta thing. They helped convince Professor Maltos to join up, after all…"

"Yes they did," she nodded, "Maybe they can help us out again – I think I'll invite him to dinner tonight."

"Tell me how that goes - I'm getting Maltos, Zidane, and the others together to discuss the idea. We do need more people, Liza, especially after two months ago…"

"You don't need to remind me," she said solemnly.

Rickon paused, his eyes focused on hers for a moment, "Baldric was the one who ordered the attack. He was the leader at that time, not me, remember? Neither mom or dad could ever control him, nor could I…"

"I'm sorry, I'm not blaming anyone," she said quietly, arms folded across her chest.

"I know, I know…"

_"Falman? Falman, man, wake up!"_

_"Huh? Wha?" Vato picked his head up off the thin pillow, blinking up around the dark dorm room._

_"Man, you won't believe the shit some people'll say when they get enough alcohol in 'em," Jurg, one of Falman's roommates, chuckled, obviously fairly intoxicated himself, "Somebody said they saw ya headin' into the recruitment office last week. Imagine! _You_ joinin' the military!"_

_"Uh…right…" Falman let his face fall back into pillow._

_"I told the dude he was nuts, an' I wasn't the only one: Celia was twice as loud as half of us put together!"_

_"Celia?" the future Warrant Officer raised his head again, "Aww, shit. I knew there was someone I forgot to tell…"_

"How'd the interview go, Officer Falman?"

"Pretty well, I think," Vato replied, loosening his tie, "I've got a position in the leader's day-job company."

"That's a good start, at least," Commander Thanas said, "Keep us informed of any further developments- that is, of course, without risking your cover."

"Of course."

"Good luck, Officer Falman."

"Thank you, Commander."


End file.
